


if i ever saw you try to be a saint

by inmoonlightigetseasick



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Angst, Bisexuality, Coming Out, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Joni Mitchell - Freeform, M/M, henry is like harry styles at the end of his 1d career, imagine in terms of fame/prestige alex is like timothee chalamet, no exact parallels, sappy poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22103458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inmoonlightigetseasick/pseuds/inmoonlightigetseasick
Summary: He turns back, waiting for further instruction from Luna when Henry actually gets up and approaches him to talk. “I must apologize about the hour,” he says, faking sincerity so well Alex recants his doubts about Henry’s acting chops, “this was my fault, I have a shoot for a music video later today and after that I’m on a flight back to jolly old England as it were, loads of publicity for the latest album.”“You sound like a busy guy,” Alex says, with a small, tight smile, “sure you’ll have time for our little movie?”“I will make the time,” he says, his eyes are a bottomless blue, they shine, deceptively truthful, he turns to Luna, “I cannot tell you how great an honour it is to be considered for this role. What you’ve done here,” he gestures to his script, “I think it’s amazing.” Alex hates that Henry is right.--AU in which Alex is an up-and-coming actor slated to star in in-demand director Rafael Luna's highly anticipated queer coming-of-age film. For Alex, keen to share his own bisexuality with the world, it's the perfect project to be his true starmaking vehicle -- but for one thing-- his nemesis Henry Fox, a wildly popular rock star, might end up playing his love interest.
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 32
Kudos: 375





	if i ever saw you try to be a saint

**casting**

“There’s no way I’ll work with him! I’ll walk, damn it!” 

“Alex, you’re not going to walk. This movie means too much to you to let go over such a small reason,” June is trying to calm him down with facts, but they only make him angrier. He loves his sister, he truly does, he just wishes she didn’t always have to be so _reasonable_ all the time. 

He tells her as much. She smiles, good natured and patient with him. He appreciates it, he appreciates her, but these are the moments where he feels like her baby brother again. He’s _twenty-one whole years old_ , he’s turning twenty-two in March. He’s an adult. So he really shouldn’t be throwing a tantrum like this, and yet. 

“What possessed _Henry_ goddamn _Fox_ to even audition? Isn’t he a musician? Can he even act?”

Henry Fox is Alex’s longtime nemesis, and until now, someone Alex barely has to see. Though they are equally famous, they operate in two distinct worlds. Where Alex Claremont-Diaz is the new young heartthrob actor, gracing movie screens in both commercial hits and highbrow indie fare, Henry is his own shining star in the music world, part of a band called _Windsor_ , with his sister Bea. Their name is a playful reference to their distant familial connection to England’s literal royal family, but they play bona fide rock music, and they’ve drawn comparisons to artists like Fleetwood Mac, Bowie, and The Strokes. Not that Alex listens to their music, no, it’s far too white for his taste. 

Their band is more up June’s alley, which is why she’s playing the devil’s advocate right now. “He clearly impressed the casting director enough to get a chemistry read with you, so I think he can act.” 

“What’s he even _been in_ before?” 

“Hmm,” June holds up a finger as she scrolls through her phone, “his IMDB says he was in a couple of episodes of something called _Coronation Street_ when he was younger, and uh, Doctor Who, obviously, that’s like their Law and Order. He was an extra in Harry Potter. I don’t know Alex, he’s seems pretty illustrious to me. Also, his dad was James Bond, so I guess that helps?” 

Alex throws himself onto the nearest couch like an Oscar Wilde character in his despair. He misses by a long-shot, but it makes June laugh as he scrambles back up and sits down normally. Well, as normally as he can manage. 

“Fuck nepotism. He’s going to ruin everything!” 

“I think now you’re officially being too dramatic.” Alex, now dangling upside down off of the couch, his feet in the air, cannot fathom how his sister could have made such an out-of-hand claim. 

“I’m an actor! Drama is what I do! He’s a singer! He’s supposed to make his pretty boy music and stay out of my life!”

“Pretty boy? Uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” Alex scrambles now, sitting up, he doesn’t like June’s tone, “Why did you say uh oh?”

“You think he’s pretty?”

Alex scoffs, “No. June. Come on. It’s like an objective fact. I’m not admitting to anything by simply stating a fact.” 

June bites her lip the way she always does when she’s trying not to laugh. Alex is sputtering, “I don’t like him, June. You know I don’t.”

“Okay,” June raises her hands as if in surrender, Alex knows her too well to fall for that, so he waits for the other shoe to drop, “Then what about the magazine?”

“What magazine?” 

“I think we both know what magazine, Alex.”

She’s talking about a back issue of Teen Vogue, among her vast collection. Alex had been sure it was tucked safely in the corner of his mind, that he would sneak into June’s room and flip through her collection to look at over and over again. This picture was of Henry in the sunshine with a carefree smile and a cricket bat on his shoulder. He was twelve when June got that magazine, Henry not much older. It had been a few years before the band had started up, the article was a spread about his dad, his last Bond movie had just come out. Alex remembers barely skimming the contents of the article, focused on his family, to whom he was ecstatic to return after years of unforgiving filming schedules. Alex still remembers being captivated by that image, by the way Henry was _glowing_ , how happy he looked, the apparent feather-softness of his hair, the kindness in his eyes, the sharp and brilliant angles of his face. He hadn’t thought about it in years, not since that first, horrible time they’d met, five years later, and the image proved itself to be just that: a pose for the cameras. The real guy behind it wasn’t what Alex’s weird twelve-year-old brain had conjured, and Alex hardly cared. He had been so good at avoiding Henry until this point. 

“How did _you_ know about that?”

“I’m a reporter, Alex, and this is the surveillance state. You should get used to it.”

“That’s not funny, June, privacy is a human right!”

“Well then you should have just taken the magazine to your room instead of sneaking into mine every time you wanted to look at it.” 

“What does the magazine have to do with anything? I haven’t looked at it since I was in like tenth grade!”

“The point is, maybe there’s some part of you that saw something in little baby Henry that can make you see past whatever weird grudge you hold against him for the Grammys.” 

“It’s not a weird grudge! He just proved to me that night that he’s a stuck up, pompous ass and I just have wanted nothing to do with him ever since. I think that’s my right as an American citizen!”

“You got all that from meeting him _once_?”

“You’ve seen him in interviews, he’s always like that. He barely cracked a smile on _Fallon_! I mean what kind of monster—”

“Oh, and you always come off looking the best in interviews? Need I remind you about Turkey Gate?” 

“That was Nora’s fault, and you know it.” As much as he loves her, his best friend and fellow up-and-coming actor Nora Holleran is quickly making her mark as Hollywood’s newest notorious troublemaker. It’s not her fault, she was born to buck conventions. 

“I don’t think I do know that.” Of course June, traitor that she has proven to be would come to Nora’s defence. “But anyway, my point stands. You’re harsh on the guy. Give him a chance.” 

“I kind of feel like I don’t have a choice.”

“Hey, maybe your instincts aren’t _all_ bad.” 

**chemistry read**

The chemistry read is criminally early in the morning. Alex isn’t a morning person on good days, but on this day in particular he has a killer hangover from a particularly raucous cast party he had attended for Nora’s play, which had ended in a truly riotous round of karaoke and the numbers of not just one cute girl but also two cute guys in his phone. He’s spoiled for choice. But he figures, as he scrolls through instagram on the car ride over, that he might save the buzz of dating rumours for a bit, at least until they’re finished principal photography. Maybe he’ll ramp it up during the press tour. Then again, those are always more exciting when he can stir up rumours with someone _in_ the cast. But then again Henry is supposed to be in this cast. As the romantic lead, he would be the obvious choice—

The thought of that instantly sours his mood, past the point of the hangover. 

“Hey,” he groans in his manager’s vague direction, “Zahra. Need to puke I think.” 

He is wordlessly handed a paper bag, Zahra does not look up from her phone, he’s not sure she hears his mumbled thanks. He doesn’t puke— just holds the bag just under his chin, inhales the pulpy, papery smell, feels a little calmer. 

The car lurches to a halt, which doesn’t help. But he keeps it together under Zahra’s watchful gaze. She leads him, though he is a sluggish few paces behind the efficient click of her heels, through the studio to an unremarkable room. And _he_ is there.

Looking perfect, as usual. Hardly a golden hair out of place. Henry Fox is sitting with inappropriately good posture for a “rock star,” on the arm chair adjacent to the couch with the director, and the casting agent. He’s chatting with them, a smile making his normal imperious expression go soft. They’re all giggling, sipping coffees and eating some donuts that have been brought in. Alex realizes, annoyed, how his director and casting agent both look already totally enamoured with his horrible perfect face, and his deep, musical laugh. 

Alex is seething as he enters, announcing his presence, his hair probably sticking out everywhere when he tugs the hood of his sweater off, his eyes bloodshot when he rips off his shades. That must be what they’re staring at as they look at him, fallen silent. 

“I want to make some kind of joke about cats, being dragged in, etc, but we simply don’t have time. Alex, Henry, let’s get you in places, Sheila, can you get the camera ready? Your scripts are on the desk,” their director, the enigmatic Rafael Luna, is a genius but also a bit of a jerk sometimes. But this movie is his baby, so, Alex isn’t surprised that the intensity, even at this part of the process, is on another level. He tries to take it off the cuff, shaking himself out of his hangover stupor, soon, blessedly, there’s a cup of coffee being pressed into his hand by Zahra who has finally tuned into his despair. 

He takes a grateful sip and says, “Good morning to you too.” 

He turns back, waiting for further instruction from Luna when Henry actually gets up and approaches him to talk. “I must apologize about the hour,” he says, faking sincerity so well Alex recants his doubts about Henry’s acting chops, “this was my fault, I have a shoot for a music video later today and after that I’m on a flight back to jolly old England as it were, loads of publicity for the latest album.” 

“You sound like a busy guy,” Alex says, with a small, tight smile, “sure you’ll have time for our little movie?”

“I will make the time,” he says, his eyes are a bottomless blue, they shine, deceptively truthful, he turns to Luna, “I cannot tell you how great an honour it is to be considered for this role. What you’ve done here,” he gestures to his script, “I think it’s amazing.” Alex hates that Henry is right. He’s worked with Luna before, a couple of times, but not on a project like this. This is Luna’s story. Called _This Above All_ , it cheekily borrows from the Hamlet line, “this above all: to thine own self be true.” It’s a story about coming-of-age, about identity, about defying expectations. It’s about a young Mexican-American kid, trying to find a place in his world, trying to make his world a better place through his art, oh, and he happens to be gay and navigating his first love on top of all of that. It’s a beautiful story, filled to the brim with hope and it’s just the message the world needs right now. 

Alex feels wildly protective of this film, of this role. Mostly because it’s so close to him. He grew up in Texas too, where he learned about and grew fiercely proud of his Mexican heritage from his dad’s side. It also wasn’t too long ago that Alex realized he was bisexual. It had been a long time coming, but it took a little nudge in the right direction to figure it out. He isn’t out yet, but he’s planning on doing it when they promote the movie. So there’s a lot riding on this movie being great, not just because he wants to make Luna proud, but because he wants to make kids that look like him, and _are_ like him, feel seen. 

He’s not going to let Henry get in the way of that. Even if he’s the romantic lead. Even if this is, at its core, a love story. 

“Okay, let’s get into places,” Luna says. 

Alex reluctantly shuffles over to where Henry stands, clutching his script. 

“Which scene are we doing?” Alex asks, flipping through his own. 

“We’re going to start with the fight. We set the scene, it’s night, outside the library.”

It’s Henry’s line first, he approaches Alex, he feigns a shiver and runs his hands up and down his arms, “It’s bloody freezing out here, Julian. Come back inside.”

Before they even really begin, Alex breaks character, “I thought James was supposed to be American?”

Luna frowns, clearly frustrated with Alex, but he sighs before he answers, “I changed my mind. He’s British now, you know, to separate the characters from real life.”

“And for what it’s worth,” Henry adds, smiling a little sheepishly, “My American accent is shite.”

Alex frowns. “Okay, sorry about that then, should we take that from the top?”

Luna nods, and Shiela fiddles with the camera before shooting them a thumbs up. Henry starts again. “Come back inside,” he asks, and the earnestness with which he speaks, and the way he’s looking at Alex almost make him forget his lines, until he remembers he’s supposed to be Julian, this is supposed to be James, they’re supposed to be in love. He can make it look like that, he’s a professional despite it all. 

“I can’t go back in there,” Alex says, his voice breaking when he bids it, he looks away, down at his feet, “I can’t face those guys again.”

“Hey,” Henry says, stepping up to him, he curls a hand over Alex’s wrist, “Look at me,” Henry asks, and when Alex looks up his breath catches a little in his throat, Henry is really very close to him now, “Nothing they say can touch you, not unless you let it.”

“Well it’s too late, I let it. And they’re right,” Alex looks away again, cowering a little under the intensity of Henry’s gaze, “What was I thinking? I don’t belong here.” 

Henry lets out a grunt of frustration, “Julian, you know, for someone so clever you’re being unbelievably stupid right now.” 

Alex laughs, humourlessly, “Thanks for that.” 

“Oh please don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean,” Henry raises his voice then, and Alex looks at him, taken aback, “You’re brilliant, you have so much to offer. And you used to know that! I can’t believe you’ve let these people beat you down like this when you bring more to this than any of us and… and we need you. I need you.” 

Alex pauses for a minute and just looks at Henry who plays this moment of vulnerability beautifully, his eyes shining, “Why didn’t you say any of this in there?”

Now Henry looks away, ashamed, “I should have. I know. And I’m sorry, truly. I was scared too— you know.”

“You were afraid they’d find out? Your dirty little secret?”

“That is not what you are to me, Julian, and don’t you dare think so.”

“You’ve never really given me any reason to think otherwise.” 

Now Henry pauses, the hurt on his face is clear. “If that’s how you feel, then, I suppose I have nothing left to say.” Something twists in Alex’s heart at the way Henry says his line, he looks at him, but for a minute feels like he’s really Julian, and he’s looking at James, and his heart is breaking. 

“And scene!” Luna says, thankfully shattering the moment, and Alex breathes. “That was excellent. Let’s try the meet cute next. We changed some of the lines to reflect the new British direction we’re taking, so check your sides. Alright. Daytime, inside the classroom. Sheila can you pull up two chairs?” 

Sheila hands Alex two folding chairs, which he sets up, and Henry sits down, looks off into the middle distance like he’s watching a lecture. Alex bustles in next to him, takes a seat. Henry shoots him a withering glance so true to life that Alex forgets for a minute that they’re acting. 

“What’d I miss?” Alex whispers. 

Henry scoffs, “Only half the lecture.” 

Alex squints where Henry is looking, “What’s he yammering on about anyway? Oh god, Shakespeare? That old hack? I didn’t miss anything, I’ve heard it all.” 

Henry turns then in his seat, “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, shit, I mean, I’m sorry. I get that he’s like on your stamps or whatever but I just think he’s kind of played out.” 

“I can’t have this conversation with you right now, in fact I can’t believe I’m saying anything at all when I should be listening to my lecture which I paid for, and I assume you have too.” 

“Nope, not really. Finagled a scholarship, actually.”

“With this attitude towards education, I can’t imagine how.” 

“I’m full of surprises.”

“I would not really care to find any of them out.”

“You wouldn’t? Not even over a coffee? After this?”

“How are you asking me out right now? I don’t even know your name—”

“Julian,” Sheila reads, as the professor, “Since you’re feeling so chatty this morning— can you tell me the difference between the Stratfordian and Oxfordian schools of thought about Shakespeare’s true identity?” 

Without skipping a beat, “Of course sir. See, the Stratfordians believe that Shakespeare was who he and his contemporaries like Ben Johnson say he was. Just a guy from a podunk town, with a working-class father, a high school education, and a dream. The Oxfordians on the other hand think that great works of art such as Hamlet and Macbeth could only have been written by a university-educated scholar and so theorize that someone more like Francis Bacon was the true author of Shakespeare’s plays. Now, if you’ll allow me to editorialize a bit, I think that the Oxfordians have the more classist and elitist stance that do not align with the overwhelming evidence from the Elizabethan period about playwrights, who served a popular function, which we know from testimony of their plays being attended by hordes of poor and working class people, the simple farces that would take place in advance of each play, and the fact that poor and working class people were the actors. It’s our modern bias that projects that theatre is some upper-crust pastime when really it has the ability to transcend class entirely.”

“Very good,” Sheila-as-Professor says, and Alex leans back in his seat and shoots a smug little wink at Henry who is staring with his mouth hanging open. Henry swallows and fiddles with his paper to telegraph his character’s nervousness. 

“Well, after that display, I suppose you leave me no choice but to find out how you know all that. I’ll meet you at the Black Bean, across campus. I’m James.”

“Perfect,” Alex grins, “that’s my favourite spot, too.” And then for a minute, they just smile stupidly at each other, like people who have just figured out that the answer to that thing that has been bugging them was in front of them all along. 

“And cut,” Luna says, and the spell is broken. Alex looks away first, looks over at their director who’s got a wide smile on his face, “You two were great.” 

“Did you want to see anything else?” Henry asks, casting a small smile at Alex who has snapped back into reality, the reality where a strange residual backlash of anger that had been missing this whole time he’s been gazing into Henry’s stupid blue eyes, is surging up again like bile in his throat. Now when he looks at Henry, Alex carefully keeps his face impassive. Even when he clocks the slight disappointment in Henry’s features, he doesn’t let it faze him. 

“No, no. I think I’ve seen everything I want to see. I’ll let you know soon.”

“Thanks for coming in,” Sheila adds. 

Henry smiles, thanks Luna again, and gets up. Without looking back at Alex, he grabs his coat and walks out. For some reason, this infuriates him. Alex knows he has to stay behind to discuss some more with Sheila and Raf but something possesses him in that moment and he gets to his feet to follow Henry. 

“Hey!” he says, stopping Henry in the hall. When Henry turns around, something lights up in his eyes and he smiles a curt and polite little smile. 

“Hello,” There’s a small awkward pause before Henry continues, “You were fantastic in there.”

“Thanks,” Alex says, unwilling to be bent by Henry’s obviously fake kindness, “Look, I need to say something to you. To just— set the record straight.”

“Of course,” and as Alex says what he says next he watches the bright expression leave Henry’s face, his mouth falling into a frown, becoming a little pinched on the side. 

“We’re not friends, okay? And I’m not looking to be buddy-buddy with you on the off chance that we actually do end up working together.”

“Off chance?”

“Yeah, I mean come on. That was like ten minutes in there. You can’t feign liking me forever.” 

“Isn’t that what acting is?”

“What you were doing in there is beyond acting— you’re lying, you’re pretending!”

“Further synonyms for acting.” 

“Okay— you know what? Don’t be a smartass with me." 

“Have you ever considered that I might actually like you?”

Momentarily— Alex is struck speechless. And then, in the worst possible move to follow, he heaves. And he throws up on Henry’s shoes. Alex will never forget those shoes. They’re white Adidas, speckled green and brown from Alex’s coffee and green smoothie breakfast. As soon as it’s over, Alex shoots up, covering his mouth, mortified.

There’s a moment he has to truly confront what he has just done: he just hurled on his potential future co-star’s shoes. In the commotion, he barely registers when Henry shouts and steps backwards. The air is still with shock, neither of them speaking or doing anything but alternately staring and trying to do anything but look at the pile of vomit at their feet.

Then, Luna ducks out the door. “Oh! Good, Henry you’re still here.” He doesn’t seem to register the awful sight, or the smell, or he’s purposefully ignoring it, because it’s with a grin that he says, “Congratulations, kid. You’ve got the part!”

**rehearsal**

They’re a week into rehearsals, and it’s already a little bit intoxicating, always being in Alex’s orbit like this. But Henry thinks he’s getting used to it. Sort of counter-intuitively, it helps that Alex hates him. Henry can handle it if he can get back to his hotel room after the day’s rehearsals are done, sit down with his notepad and his guitar, and wring the chaos in his head out into music. It doesn’t matter if Alex vacates the craft services table the minute Henry walks up, or that Alex flirts shamelessly with any other member of the cast, or that he never has more than five words to say to Henry any time he strikes up a conversation at their big cast dinners. None of that matters when it’s wrought into whiny, solipsistic verse that will never see the light of day outside the thin walls of his room, never mind an album.  ****

But even Henry does not delude himself to think that this can last forever. 

It begins with the scene he had been dreading: the kiss. It came time finally to rehearse it early in their second week, with the thought that by now the ice had been broken and everyone should have gotten to know each other and gotten comfortable. Henry only wishes that were the case. He’s become friendly with some of the other cast members, the few he shares scenes with. But, for his role as the lead’s love interest, it makes sense that most of his scenes are with Alex. And the long stretch of ice that spans between them has not even shown any signs of condensation. 

This is why, when they finally go for it, it’s an awkward, forced press of the lips. Henry had often wondered what it would be like— kissing Alex Claremont-Diaz— he hated to admit it but he’d often dreamed of it. He hadn’t thought it would be like this, dispassionate, disappointing. He hadn’t anticipated a twinge in his chest when he watched Alex wipe at his mouth afterwards. Hadn’t expected to feel so rotten and self-conscious.

He’s not even surprised when Luna comes over to the two of them with his notes. 

“Okay, this is going to sound weird so I need you two to level with me here,” Luna says, though he has been generally cheerful today, but now he’s suddenly serious. Henry watches as Alex furrows his brow to look more serious, it in fact makes him look a little constipated. Henry schools his own expression, suppressing his instinct to smile at Alex in that moment. However, Luna’s next words erase any trace of a smile that could threaten to occupy Henry’s features. 

“I want you two to practice the kiss some more. But I’m afraid you’re not getting it right because we’re all watching you. I get it. There’s a lot of pressure. So we’re going to set aside some time, we’ll all vacate the space, and I want you two to just practice getting the kiss right. Get comfortable with each other, go get dinner alone if you need to tonight, and just try and get it right by Friday’s rehearsal.”

Their director delivers these instructions tactfully and succinctly as if he were just telling them to run some lines. As if he were not telling Henry to do the thing that might just kill him. Alex looks a little nauseated again, and Henry tries his best to be subtle about the step he takes backwards. Alex notices anyway and flushes red. 

“We’ll get it done,” Alex says, and Henry thinks it might just be to escape the situation, but he’s grateful for it. 

“Perfect. Great work otherwise, guys, I mean it.” And with that Luna leaves, and the two of them are left standing awkwardly next to one another. Had the chemistry read just been a fluke? Everything had been so stilted since, he thinks Luna is right, they need this time together for the sake of the movie, as excruciating as it might be. 

Henry casts a glance at the time, “Did you want to go to dinner now?”

Alex shrugs, noncommittal, “That could be good… there’s a half-decent pho place a couple of blocks east of here?” Henry agrees and they gather their stuff in silence. This same, unexpectedly comfortable quiet follows them all the way to the restaurant, they order, and it is only then that Henry attempts to dislodge the silence with some inane conversation. 

“I’m really looking forward to seeing the set,” he says.

“I think we’re shooting on location,” Alex replies, and he casts his eyes around the restaurant, saying nothing else.

“I watched you work on the monologue with Luna the other day, I think it’s starting to sound really good.”

“I don’t know, I’m not really happy with it.”

And the conversation went on like this for a while, like a botched improv performance where one’s partner _only_ tells them “no.” After a while, Henry has little left to say. There’s the sound of their soup spoons and chopsticks clattering, the soft slurping of broth. 

Then, finally, Alex says something, “Can I ask you a question?”

“Anything,” Henry says. 

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“When you said you liked me?”

“Oh, you mean what I said before you were promptly sick on my shoes?” 

“Dude, look,” Alex takes a deep breath, casts his gaze around again, which Henry is beginning to understand is a tactic of nervousness, “I’m sorry that this is so awkward. I’ve been avoiding you because I’m so goddamn embarrassed about that, so I’ll just lay it out here. I’m sorry. I was so fucking hungover.”

Henry stills with a realization. _That_ was why Alex had been avoiding him? It sparks an inconvenient hope in his chest, and he smiles, unable to help himself, “Forgiven. Does that mean you’ll actually talk to me now?” 

“Dude I will literally never shut up around you now,” he laughs a little, sounding relieved. Henry finds himself a little stunned, a little dazzled at how the evening seems to be turning around. Alex’s smile is sly, like they’re sharing a secret when he says, “I hope you know what you’re signing up for.” 

“My contract was very clear.”

“Right, the contract you signed to work with me for a whole year… because you _like_ me, right?”

“I mean, I thought you were good in that Jordan Peele film.”

“Oh, so you’re a _fan_.”

“That’s going a bit too far.” 

“You know, my sister has all your albums, there was a time I considered myself a fan of yours.” 

“Was that before I did whatever it was that made you hate me so much?”

“Yes, actually,” Henry freezes, realizing the smile has fallen off of Alex’s face. Henry waits for Alex to continue, “I went up to talk to you at the Grammy’s and you totally brushed me off.” 

“Uh, which Grammy’s was this?”

“I don’t know, like five years ago?” Alex must have noticed how Henry has gone still, the humour drained from his face, he tries to backtrack, “Look, it was just a bad first impression. I looked up to you. You were just kind of an asshole to me.”

Henry feels his stomach drop then, his eyes cast down to his dinner, but his appetite gone. He is feeling a strange mixture of embarrassment, guilt, and that familiar tidal wave of his grief surging back up in his chest. He breathes through it. “Not that it’s an excuse but my father had just died six months prior, and I was kind of a prick to everyone then. We only went to the Grammy’s that year because it was our first nomination and… and Dad would have wanted us to go. None of us really wanted to be there much less talk to anyone…” he realizes he’s rambling, but what snaps him out of it is that all of a sudden, Alex’s hand comes up to cover his own where it rests on the table between them. He curls his fingers around Henry’s and gives a small squeeze, and Henry finally looks back up at him. 

“I’m sorry,” is all Alex says, “I didn’t know. I didn’t think—”

“It’s alright,” Henry says, clearing his throat, he retracts his hand, “I’m sorry too.”

“Forgiven,” Alex says without hesitation, “Can we start over now?” 

“Clean slate.” 

To Henry’s surprise, the rest of their evening passes by in a blur of great conversation and laughter— they have more in common with each other than Henry thought. They share tales of their beloved older sisters whom they’re desperate to protect even though— “They never actually need our protection, do they?” They discover their mutual love of Star Wars. And Henry learns his takes are apparently offensive enough to Alex that he threatens to leave more than once. They find common ground once they start discussing their weariness with the nonstop reboots, and Alex’s not-so-secret desire to have been cast in one of them— “ _I’d have taken a droid for god’s sake!”_ — and before they know it, the restaurant is about to close and they’re being politely shuffled out. They loiter for a minute on the street corner, neither of them wanting this night to end. 

“Hey, listen,” Alex starts, “I don’t know how you feel about this whole kiss practice thing but I don’t know if I want to do it… in the rehearsal space…” Henry thinks he catches Alex’s drift.

“Even if they vacate it, it’ll still feel forced, won’t it?”

“Exactly! Which is why I was wondering if you didn’t just want to come over and practice it at my place? I live just around the block, actually, we can just walk over?”

“Oh,” Henry tries to quell his sudden panic, “you mean now?”

“When else?” Alex grins, “I took you to dinner first, didn’t I?”

“Oh, yes, darling, you really know how to treat a lady right,” Henry jokes back, just as quick, but inwardly he’s trying to stave off his growing uneasiness. 

Their night had been wonderful but now Henry was starting to fill with dread. Would this fuck him up more than he already was fucked up over Alex? Very likely. Was it an incredibly bad idea to go back to the apartment of the boy he’s been in love with, who has hated him for the past five years, just when they’ve started to strike up a friendship, all under the pretences of a fake relationship? Almost definitely. Would he have to do it anyway? For the role of a lifetime? To make the boy in question happy? That wasn’t even a question. So he follows Alex as they stroll down the street, relatively quiet for Los Angeles. Henry doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the permanent temperate weather in this city, the way it feels brand new at night when a cool breeze eases the day’s heat. 

They make it to Alex’s apartment sooner than he would have hoped. Alex tosses his jacket on the floor near his coat hook, a small action that frustrates Henry more than it should in the moment. He picks it up and hangs it alongside his own jacket. 

Alex, who is pouring them each a glass of wine notices, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well it’s good to keep tidy.”

“Damn,” Alex says, handing him his glass and sprawling on the sofa, “One date into this fake relationship and you’re already sick of my bad habits.” 

“It’s only a coat, Alex, not a pre-nup,” Henry says, he sits down on the sofa, close enough so that their knees touch, and he takes a generous swallow of his wine before setting it down on the coffee table. 

“Hey,” Alex says, and he curls a hand over Henry’s thigh, making his heart jump into his throat, “Are you saying I’m not husband material?”

“Oh, I’m sure one day when you grow up—” Henry starts, but he doesn’t have a chance to finish before Alex’s lips are on his, kissing him with a slow and sure pressure that he falls into, helpless. He kisses back immediately, this feels nothing like the false start in rehearsal, instead there’s a wildfire pleasure spreading through his body as he feels Alex’s tongue against his own. He pulls his mouth back for a second, for a breath, and Alex’s lips descend immediately upon his neck, kissing, and licking, and biting. He’s sure he’s making any number of embarrassing little sounds, but he can’t bring himself to care, lost in the ecstasy of Alex’s touch. 

Alex is sucking on his neck in earnest, so Henry is having to catch his breath at the same time as he attempts to say, “don’t leave a mark.” And this only makes Alex move back to his mouth and press Henry down, down into the softness of the sofa beneath him with delirious pressure. Henry’s finally got his hands buried in Alex’s curls and they’re as soft and perfect as he’s always imagined, and when he tugs he hears Alex _whimper_ against his lips which just does things to him he cannot understand, and has long since given up trying. 

It might be seconds, or minutes, or hours before they pull back, back into themselves, faces still just a few inches apart and panting. Henry watches Alex’s expression shift from something like wonder, to confusion, but then— a slow, sincere smile. 

“You were holding back,” is what he finally, confusingly says. 

“Huh?”

“On set today, you were holding back.” 

“So were you.”

“Well that’s cause I was acting.” And Henry can feel his body grow tense, he pushes himself up a little, to lean his back against the sofa’s armrest, Alex sits up and rests his elbow on the back couch cushion. 

“This wasn’t acting?” Henry asks, dumbly. 

“Not for me,” Alex admits, and he looks down at a thread on the couch, begins picking at it nervously. Henry takes a deep breath, feeling unforgivably like he’s about to do something he cannot reverse once it’s done. 

“I wasn’t acting either,” he says, his voice soft. And it’s worth it, everything that might come afterwards, for the small, slow smile on Alex’s face then, and the way he leans in and kisses Henry, impossibly soft. When he pulls back there’s a furrow in his brow, and Henry quickly leans up to kiss it, smooths it away with his thumb. 

“Look, Henry, this doesn’t have to be a whole thing… I mean. I’m not out yet, and I don’t know if you are…?” 

He pauses for a minute and Henry supplies, “I’m not out either.”

Alex looks thoughtful then, “Not to be too forward or anything but, what’s stopping you? My excuse is I just found out but… how long have you known?”

Henry looks away then, bites his lip, unsure of how to parse this. “I’ve known for a while. I’m just waiting for the right time,” he says finally, and nothing more, and he can tell Alex is unsatisfied with his answer but thankfully doesn’t probe any further. “But listen, I’m willing to practice as much discretion as you need for whatever this is, and we don’t have to define it right now. Like I said Alex, I like you.” This is, of course, an understatement. But it makes Alex smile anyway, and it makes him crowd closer, looping his arms around Henry’s neck and kissing him until he’s flushed and breathless. 

“Are you going to be able to control yourself on set?” Henry laughs.

“Sure,” Alex says, full of false confidence and bravado, but then he cants his hips in a way that makes Henry’s breath catch, and he lowers his lips to Henry’s ears, in a low whisper he says, “But only if we can lose control in your trailer afterwards.” 

“I think that can be arranged,” and Henry’s voice is strained. When Alex laughs again, Henry feels the vibration of it from where Alex’s chest is pressed against his own, can feel the heat of Alex’s breath along his neck. 

Alex whispers again, “Do you think I could get a preview of that arrangement now?” And everything in Henry’s formerly functional instinct for self-preservation tells him that maybe this is too fast, maybe it’s too much, maybe this will end in disaster. 

But then a much louder part of his brain quickly squashes that first thought and just says, “Don’t hold anything back.” 

**on set**

It’s hard not to notice that Alex and Henry have gone from being cold and distant and combative to completely inseparable overnight (and what a night it had been…). They cling to each other now, always huddled together and sharing blankets between takes, playing off of each other with a kind of natural chemistry that would make you think they were really in love, and of course kissing like pros— kissing like they really _mean_ it. Which, of course, they do. 

The rest of the cast seem pleased, now they can all get along without there being any weird animosity. Group hangouts are now suddenly possible, and fill their weekends free from shooting with some nice wholesome fun. It turns out karaoke is one of their shared favourite activities, and Alex has on more than one occasion managed to coax Henry out of his shell, convinced him to deliver his own renditions of Queen classics to their cast-mates’ delight. Their director is elated, his two leads show that spark again that he’d seen when he’d cast them, they play off of each other like naturals, and take his direction smoothly. 

It’s only for Henry that this time holds a deeply dangerous feeling. And he recognizes it. He’s felt it before. And he’s felt the aftermath of it before as well. But for some reason, as terrified as he is of the imminent heartbreak on the horizon, he keeps going. He’s writing the best songs of his career. He has taken to keeping a pen and paper on his bedside table in his trailer where he scrawls down lyrics while Alex is still asleep, curled around him. He’ll watch the naked angles of his body disappearing beneath his sheets and he’ll see poetry in every contour, in every inch of golden skin. He’s sure that the songs he writes when it’s over will be just as good—if not better. And really then, doesn’t this whole ridiculous self-destructive mission just become a career move? 

Henry knows he was born to be a writer in moments like these, when his own thoughts can tangle and twist and justify his every reckless decision. He’s thinking about that, chin propped up on his hand as he stares at Alex. They’re taking a break in their dressing room while the crew sets up for the day. Henry’s coming up with some metaphor for the apparent weightlessness of Alex’s hair, when he realizes he’s barely heard a thing Alex has been saying to him. 

“So—it’s still just this fucking reconciliation scene that I just can’t get down.” 

“What’s not working?” He says, finally tuning in. Alex smiles, blessedly used to Henry’s occasional spaced out moods. 

“I don’t know _what_ it is, but I just feel like I’m not selling it. It’s so intense, you know? And I just don’t know if I’m telegraphing that. I never thought I got it down in rehearsals— I felt like I was holding back— and I just want to get it right for Raf, you know? I want to do his words justice. Do you think you could help me?”

As if Alex has to ask. “What do you need?” 

“Could we run the scene again, like, after we wrap tonight? We can do it in my trailer or I can come to yours, whatever’s easiest.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you then, maybe mine? Mine would be good.” 

“Okay, amazing, thank you Henry. I really owe you one for this.”

“Not at all, I’m happy to do you a favour.” 

“I know, sweetheart, but just be on the lookout because one day I will return that favour.” 

_You already have_ , Henry doesn’t say, his head spinning a little from being called _sweetheart_. But at the same time he suspects Alex already knows, because when he visits him later that night, Henry can barely close his trailer’s door before Alex pounces on him, catching his lips in a deep kiss as he walks Henry over to the little sofa, unceremoniously pushing him down, he straddles Henry’s lap and starts tugging at the hem of his shirt. Henry laughs, breaking their kiss to take it off. He takes in the sight in front of him, Alex’s hair already tousled, his face flushed. 

“I’m starting to think this was just a ruse for you to get into my trailer and debauch me.”

“Hey. maybe you’re not just a pretty face.” 

“Did you actually want to run the scene?” 

Alex looks like he’s thinking about it for a little while, but then he takes off his own shirt, he says, “hmm, maybe in like twenty minutes?” and leans over Henry, clearly preening so Henry will look at the results his celebrity personal trainer has wrought. Henry is not shy about his appreciation, running his hands over Alex’s chest and looping around to his back, he draws Alex closer. 

“That’s generous,” Henry whispers and Alex gasps in fake outrage. 

“Okay, baby, you set the pace,” he says, and as if on command, Henry whimpers, feeling his body shot through with arousal. Alex knows this word reduces him into a puddle of adoration, and he takes the moment of Henry’s sweet surrender to it to kiss him thoroughly, his hands roving, eliciting delighted little sounds from Henry’s mouth that he’s barely aware of making. Something about it, _baby_ , the way Alex says it in his slight Texan drawl, it feels like the word is dipped in honey. Henry is powerless when he hears it, and he finds increasingly that he doesn't mind.

They end up a tangle of limbs, soft whispers, and quiet sounds of breathless pleasure, for an impressive half an hour. Finally at rest, they lie down together awkwardly on the tiny couch. It’s so small, Alex has to rest on top of Henry, with his head nestled on Henry’s shoulder, Henry’s arms wrapped around him in a loose embrace. After he catches his breath, Alex leans up and kisses the underside of Henry’s jaw, “ready to go, James?”

“Don’t you ever tire?” 

“I’m definitely not tired of you, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

“Well it’s only a matter of time,” Henry says this more to himself than to Alex, and he starts to get up, but Alex stops him, his face suddenly serious. 

“No it’s not,” Alex says, staring at him so intently it makes him flush a little under its intensity, “I’m really glad we’re friends, Henry.”

In that moment Henry doesn’t have the words for the jumble of emotions that bubble in his chest. Resorting to classic avoidance, he quickly kisses Alex and pulls back, plasters a smile on his face that he hopes is half convincing. “Let’s do the scene then, alright?”

Alex looks unsure but for once, he doesn’t press. They get dressed silently and gather their scripts. Though they’re mostly off-book at this point, this scene is the one that gave them the most trouble in rehearsal, so their scripts are full of notes from their director, and it’s good to keep them on hand. They sit next to each other on Henry’s little sofa. Alex clears his throat and he begins. 

“I told you I didn’t want to see you here.” 

“I can’t take this anymore, Julian, I can’t be without you.”

“It doesn't work like that, James, you can’t just come to Texas and think that solves everything.” 

“Tell me what to do, then.” 

It’s here that Alex has tried for weeks to make his voice as cold and devoid as emotion as possible, but Henry still hears the slight tremor in the word, “Leave.”

He latches on to that tremor like hope when he says, “Julian, please.”

“Alright,” Alex takes a steadying breath, “Say what you have to say and then leave.” 

This line troubles Henry, his voice shakes, “And then that’s it?” 

“I guess that’s it.” For this line, Alex makes plain that poorly hidden well of emotion, speaks as if he’s about to cry, it makes Henry’s own throat tighten in response. Something he’s learned from his brief appearances on television, and really from his father, is that the best acting partner is the kind that you believe, the kind that transcends the artifice, because they allow you to do the same. It’s like the feeling of someone you love taking your hand and guiding you through a party full of people you don’t know, they tether you to that terrain of familiarity and let you approach the unfamiliar more easily through them. It’s an immense exercise in trust. In this moment, Henry finds he trusts Alex completely, so he clears his throat, eyes nowhere but on Alex’s turned away form and he begins. 

“From the moment I first met you— well, I didn’t think much. I thought you were some cocky, self-important wanker actually—"

“Great, so you came here to insult me?”

“I came here to tell you that _I love you_ ,” Henry watches as Alex visibly stills, he makes his body stiff, his expression shot through with pain, it makes Henry’s heart wrench, “You proved me wrong at every turn, you rewired me, you made it impossible to forget you. I know you think it’s mad that I came all the way to Texas to see you but, I would go anywhere you went— if, if you’d let me,” Here is where Henry knows to taper off, let a brief, charged silence sit between them before he asks, his voice low, his heart full of hope and sorrow, “Would you let me?”

Alex takes a deep, shuddering breath, before he says, “I don’t think I can.”

Henry barely has to force it when he chin wobbles, his expression falters for a second, but then he schools it. Henry knows by now how James stores his pain in the rigid lines of his shoulder, coils it through his spine, and so he draws on his very English essence to rein back his emotion, “Have I truly been so unforgivable?” 

“James, no, it’s not about you. Of course I forgive you, those things we said, it’s all in the past, we were young and stupid.”

“Then why is this it?”

“Because I have ambitions, okay? I need to get out of here. I need to get back to LA somehow. I need to make it. I can’t stand being a nobody anymore.” 

“You’re not nobody to me. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“If I’m with you, that’s all people will see. They will pigeonhole me, they won’t give me the opportunities I need. And I need these things, James, more than you’ll ever understand. I’m nothing without my work.” 

Then Henry breathes, a deep sigh, he blinks the tears from his eyes. This is when James resigns himself to leaving, he’s made his point, and now the fight within him dies, “I understand, Julian, I think I finally understand. Before I go, just please promise me you won’t marry some poor woman to dispel rumours or to prove a lie. Promise me you won’t stay alone and sacrifice your life for your work. I want you to have someone you love. Even if it’s not me. Please just don’t be unhappy to please other people.” 

And then there’s a pause, and they’ve blocked it in rehearsal that Henry starts to leave, and there’s supposed to be a closer shot on Alex, until he says, “Wait.” They stay seated now, focusing on the way they _say_ the words, the tone and timbre they use, focus on the breaths and pauses, the way their voices break and falter. Henry breathes, and fills the word with as much hope as he can muster, “Yes?”

“How could you ever think it’s not you? It’s only ever been you.” And in a great burst of relief, they’ve practiced it so James runs back and kisses Julian, like a man who’s found an oasis, and so Henry shifts over a few inches kisses Alex, and pours into the kiss everything he can to make Alex believe him as much as he believes Alex. He listens for Alex’s sob, which he’d tried, to great success in rehearsal, and when it comes, Henry feels it more than he hears it. 

And on cue, he pulls back, breathes a shaky breath, “Are you sure?” And there’s a moment where they just gaze into each other’s eyes, which had already been intense in front of the crew and their director but now it’s made more so, now that it’s just the two of them, sharing breath in the confines of Henry’s trailer. Henry’s not sure how long they sit there, just listening to the soft sound of their hearts beating. 

But then Alex looks away, and instead of delivering his line as usual, he says, “Sorry, sorry. Henry, I just need to stop.” He shifts back, out of Henry’s embrace and turns away, after a shuddering exhale, he turns back. “I feel like I’m fucking it up.”

“What are you talking about? You were amazing.”

“Was my tone okay?”

“It was just what the scene needed.”

Alex seems unconvinced, but he says, “You make it easier.”

“What?”

“To play off of you, it just feels totally natural.” Henry smiles and he tells Alex about what his dad had told him, who the best kinds of partners are. 

“So I really took you there, huh?” And Henry can’t help but laugh.

“It was all I could do not to burst out crying, Alex.”

This seems to finally cheer him up, he smiles a little, inching closer and Henry wraps him back up in a hug. He looks as exhausted as Henry feels after doing that scene, all the emotions they had to access and express at that level of intensity, all the effort to keep those tears at bay. Alex takes the opportunity of Henry’s embrace to climb into his lap, and soon he has his head nestled on Henry’s shoulder, where he asks seemingly out of nowhere, “Henry, will you sing me a song?” 

Henry laughs but he’s glad Alex isn’t looking at him because he can feel himself blush, he doesn’t know why he feels suddenly shy. He can sing Alex any old song, but his mind flashes instantly to the pages and pages he’s written about the man in his arms right now. Words he could not express right now if asked, but words that were true and complete and obvious. 

“Any requests?” He dares to ask. 

“Do you know any Joni Mitchell?” 

“I know a lot of Joni Mitchell. She’s Bea’s favourite.” 

“ _A Case of You_.” 

Henry laughs, rubs a soothing hand on Alex’s back, “Good choice,” he says, and he presses a kiss to Alex’s hair. 

“ _Just before our love got lost you said ‘I am as constant as a northern star,’_ ” he sings, his voice smooth and clear. He can feel Alex relax into him, and he smiles, even as he sings the bittersweet words, “ _Oh, I could drink a case of you, darling. Still I'd be on my feet. I would still be on my feet.”_ As he finishes he feels Alex’s breaths even out, Henry laughs a little, realizing he’s fallen asleep. “Ah, so you _do_ get tired,” he whispers. 

But it turns out Alex isn’t all the way unconscious, because he furrows his brow, shaking his head, he mumbles, “Not of you. Not tired of you.”

**off set**

A backstage pass to Windsor’s Madison Square Garden show is looped around Alex’s neck, and June and Nora are giggling, excited as they are led into the arena. But he can barely hear them. His brain is zeroed in, laser focused, on the fact that in a couple of hours he finally gets to see Henry again. And he’s going to do a lot more than just _see_ him. 

It’s only been a couple of months since they wrapped, and since he’d seen Henry last, but Alex has missed everything about Henry while he’s been on this endless tour— he makes a list— he has missed the safe, warm feeling of Henry’s body nearby, the clean grassy smell of his soap, the broad expanse of his hands spread across Alex’s back. A lot of these, he realizes, are incredibly horny. And to be fair, it’s been a while, and even when he thought he hated him, Alex had never denied Henry’s attractiveness. But he’s missed talking to Henry too— one thing about getting over himself is that he’s learned Henry isn’t even close to the total bore he’d always assumed he was. He’s actually really, darkly funny and so incredibly smart. Not only that but he’s sweet, and loving, and kind. Embarrassingly, everything about him seems to have been made in a factory designed to make Alex swoon, make his knees go weak. 

Since they’d parted ways, they had tried as much as they could to FaceTime, but as soon as time zones got trickier, they became less frequent, and Alex has just started shooting another project which isn’t helping. His heart is growing lonelier and more restless by the day. So when Henry tells him he’s going to be in New York, Alex is ecstatic. But there are a couple of caveats, the first is that he’s only here for a couple of days for a few shows, he has virtually no time in the day to see Alex— busy with appointments and obligations and rehearsals which all conflict with Alex’s shooting schedule. Tickets to the show on the one night Alex can make it are kind of a poor consolation for the real thing. 

But the real thing is what Henry has promised afterwards: that he’d skip the typical post-show parties, and take Alex back to his hotel room for some much needed alone time. In moments, Alex thinks the anticipation of it is the only thing keeping him going. It’s not that Alex doesn’t like Henry’s music, he’s actually coming around to it, much to June’s smug satisfaction. It’s just that he’s had Henry hold him, and kiss him, and sing to him— just him, not a crowd of adoring fans to compete for his attention. He’s had Henry all to himself and it terrifies him to realize that he doesn’t want to share him with anyone else. 

They’re ushered in backstage to their seats in the rafters just the opening act is just finishing up. Alex takes a peek out into the crowd and watches the mass of adoring fans, they form a sea of sound with their cheers. It’s a little overwhelming. He’s used to big crowds at movie premiers, and he’s attended concerts plenty, but there’s something different about witnessing this mass and volume of people all gathered together to celebrate something they love. 

When Henry and Bea go on they are met with uproarious applause and excitement. They play some of their classic hits before launching into the lead single from their latest album. Their music is bursting with energy, their lyrics are simple yet catchy yet profound. Alex finds himself enjoying the show much more than he means to dancing and singing along with June and Nora. He’s almost sad when it’s over. 

But then, in the lead up to their last song of the night, Henry leans into the microphone. “This last one is for someone very special to me, someone exceptional, someone I am fortunate along with all of you, to know and love and believe. You know who you are— this is for you.”

The song starts with Bea playing a heavy, romantic piano line, and Henry’s guitar joining in after a few beats, then a beautiful deep bass rhythm that feels the same way your heartbeat does when you look at someone you love, finally the percussion joins in to round out the sound and Henry’s vocals begin. The words barely register to Alex who is frozen in place, watching Henry do what he does best. His body moves, propelled by the music, his hands fly across his guitar strings as he plays. He sings into the microphone, his expression joyful and at ease, like he’s enjoying himself, like he’s having the time of his life. His makes something indescribable expand in Alex’s chest, something so overwhelming he has to sit down, step away from it for a bit to catch his breath. If he’s being weird, June and Nora don’t say anything, and he’s grateful for it. 

Finally when the song ends, Bea and Henry say, “Thank you New York! We have been _Windsor!”_ And Alex rushes back to the space right before the stage, Henry has already seen him as he runs back and rushes into him, they crash together in a clumsy, sweaty hug. Distantly he hears June and Nora laugh and cheer at their display, but he can’t bring himself to feel self conscious about it. He just feels such a tidal wave of relief to be back with Henry, the weight of missing him seems to finally have been removed from his heart. 

“You were amazing!” Alex says.

Henry is still catching his breath. But he looks shy, almost nervous when he asks, “You liked it?” As if a million adoring fans hadn’t just screamed exactly how much they’d liked it. Alex isn't even sure how to express what he felt about it. 

“Dude, it was unreal, seeing you in your element like that— you were magic.”

They finally untangle from their embrace, but Alex hangs on to Henry’s hand, twining their fingers together, unwilling to let go. He likes the way Henry keeps glancing down at their hands, he likes the way Henry smiles. They rejoin their little group in one of the green rooms backstage where there are a bunch of snacks and drinks laid out. He introduces Henry to June, who gets the usual dressing down— “what are your intentions with my brother,” and all that. And Alex finally meets the famous Bea. He knows from pictures how similar she looks to Henry, but meeting her he finds that even their mannerisms are the same.

“So you’re the guy who’s turned little brother into a complete and utter sap?” 

Alex laughs at how mortified Henry is by this and just raises his free hand to say, “Guilty as charged.” 

“I suppose I can’t threaten you with much if you break his heart other than that we will write one hell of a song about you.”

“Well, I hope it doesn’t come to that. For the record, I’m pretty happy with the songs he’s written about me already.” 

“I’ve written _one_ song about you,” Henry protests. 

“One song, heavily edited from the endless sonnets to Alex Claremont-Diaz’s hair, you should make him read you one someday— Aw, don’t be embarrassed!” 

Henry has pulled Alex away, towards the door. Looking back at Bea he sees she is laughing and he laughs too, “Hey, I’m going to take you up on that offer, you know.” 

“Let’s go back to my room now,” Henry pouts, “It’s been far too long.” 

Alex doesn’t need to be asked twice. They kiss the minute the car door closes behind them and it feels like coming home. His hands buried deep in Henry’s soft, golden hair, his body finding its place perfectly in Henry’s arms. It’s all they can do to keep their hands off of each other as they’re escorted to Henry’s hotel. They maintain a respectable distance in the elevator, though the way Henry looks at him makes Alex feel like he’s burning from the inside out. Henry fumbles with the key card as they’re trying to make it into his room which would in normal circumstances make Alex laugh, but he is so laser focused on just one thing which is everything he plans on doing to Henry once they make it through that door. 

When Henry presses him into the ridiculously soft bed and kisses him breathless, he thinks back to the first time they did this, that first miraculous time, crowded and piled on top of each other on Alex’s tiny couch in his dim LA apartment. He had been half embarrassed taking Henry back there, but then he had just fit, golden and gorgeous in the lamplight. Alex had felt the artifice drop immediately. As much chemistry as there was between their characters, it came from something charged in the air between them, Alex and Henry, maybe it had always been there and Alex had been too stupid to see it, hung up on a grudge that didn’t even matter. 

But now, alone with Henry, he makes up for the years he should have done something, should have said something, to have this incredible person in his life. Someone who sets him on fire with a single touch, someone who kisses him until he can’t think anymore, only feel. Alex undresses Henry that night and takes his time with it, teases him until he’s frustrated enough to take matters into his own hands, and to pin Alex down, and to show him rather than tell him just how mad Alex makes him; _mad_ in every sense of the word. 

Despite their urgency, they make every second count, mindful of the distance that they just surmounted and time they will have to bide again. When they finally wear each other out, it’s all they can do to stumble in and out of the shower, and fall asleep with wet hair.

Alex is the first one to wake, and he’s treated to the sight of Henry in the morning, peaceful and still. All he can do is snuggle closer and enjoy this feeling until Henry wakes up, just bask in it like a lazy cat. And when Henry stirs and holds him closer, and kisses with his morning breath, he feels like his heart is made of pure sunlight. 

“Good morning, you,” Henry says, his voice scratchy with sleep.

“Morning sweetheart, you are a vision.”

“You’re not too bad yourself.” 

“Oh, I know. You told me as much last night. Though in less _poetic_ terms than I would have liked.”

“Alex, I’m not reading any of my embarrassing poems to you.”

“Please, Henry.” Alex summons as much of a puppy-dog gaze as he can and pouts for good measure. Henry just rolls his eyes. 

“You perform your poetry for millions of people _as your job_!”

“That’s the polar opposite of what you’re asking me to do right now, baring my soul one on one is decidedly _not_ my job.” 

Alex tries one last time, “It’s just me, baby, come on.” 

This time, a noticeable flush rises to Henry’s cheeks, but still he shakes his head. For a moment, Alex think’s that’s that, but then, Henry reaches behind him, into the drawer of the side table and pulls out a notebook. Alex sits up, elated, and takes Henry’s face in his hand and kisses him. Henry has a rueful expression on his face when Alex pulls back.

“You’re going to run screaming for the hills once you hear this.” 

Alex is about to make some joke about how Henry could tie him to the bedposts, but then realizes that might be something he actually wants for real and so decides to save it for later and just says, “Never.” 

Henry flips through the pages, his cheeks getting redder and redder before he stops on one, Alex watches his eyes scan the page. He sighs and starts, “Wake up, dear heart, for there’s a stranger at your door. Wake up and greet him in the hollow where you had been. He will step around the sorrow heaped in piles upon the floor. Let him in— for he is a match ever-struck against rough jeans. His heart is a diamond canyon, his fault is a lone star. He tastes at once lime-sour and honey-sweet. Turn out the lights before he sees who you are. Dear heart, take courage, kiss the stranger that you meet. Kiss the tears from the corners of his eyes— for they are a fountain of youth, and let him kiss you in turn. Press a promise to your bed where he lies—that when he sets you on fire, it will be a pleasure to burn.” 

He shuts the book then and cringes, he doesn’t look at Alex, before Alex can even speak, he says, “The rhyme structure is awful and the metaphors are overwrought, and I just took that last line from Fahrenheit 451 so it’s not finished yet…”

“Henry. It was beautiful,” Alex says, overcome, and he surges up to kiss Henry to try and reflect even a little bit of what that poem made him feel. He feels like it would be impossible to do so, he could never put it into words like Henry, so he tries communicating how he knows best, kissing him again and again. When he relents, he can’t help the breathless, lovesick tone of his voice, “What’s the writing version of an Oscar because we need to get you one of those.” 

It makes Henry laugh, “You know they give Oscars for writing, don’t you?”

“As you can tell I clearly don’t pay attention to anything but the acting awards and best picture.” 

“Not even best director?”

“You know how debilitatingly self-absorbed I am, Henry, and yet you write such nice things about me.” 

“You’re right, I’ll have a chat with the rest of the fanclub, it has got to be a health hazard to your ego to be reminded of how much we worship you,” Henry says it with a wry, sarcastic smile butAlex hears the truth in it and smiles, overwhelmed with some indescribable feeling for the second time that morning. He and Henry gaze into each others eyes for a long, drawn out moment, until Henry breaks it by leaning in and kissing him. Alex melts into the kiss automatically. It’s just about to get interesting when Henry breaks the kiss, and pulling back, he asks, “Shall we order some breakfast?” 

“Yes please,” Alex says, instead of whining at Henry for cutting the kiss short, which is what he would have done had Henry said anything else. The morning stretches on ahead, feeling endless. He hides in the closet when their food is delivered, and of course they address the irony. They get dressed in comfy clothes, Henry lets Alex borrow a pair of his sweats and an old t-shirt with Windsor’s logo on it. They get on their emails, push their appointments back, extending this time together as long as they can. They feed each other bites of waffles and do other sickeningly romantic things. He makes Henry read him the poem again, at least two more times, each time Alex stares at him like a lovesick weirdo, his chin perched in his hand, his eyes probably the size of dinner plates. After a little convincing, Henry lets him take a picture of the poem to tide him over until the next time they see each other. Which leads them to the dreaded conversation.

“So, this tour finishes up its American stops next month, the last show is in Los Angeles. Then we have about a month off, which we’ll be spending in London still working. After that the European leg of the tour starts which will be another three months, then it’s back to London where I’m shooting a BBC miniseries adaptation of _Julius Caesar._ I got the part of Brutus so I’m quite buzzed about that, actually. And that will take me right up until we have to start doing the press tour for our film.”

“Wow, so you are insanely busy right now.”

“It’s the nature of being on tour.” 

“I guess I’m just as busy. But this isn’t common for me. Anytime else in my life and you know I’d be a groupie. I’d get EU citizenship for you.” 

Henry laughs, “Get used to being busy. People are finally going to see you, especially after our film comes out. They’re going to see what they’ve been missing.” 

Alex languishes in the praise, kissing Henry to show his thanks, but he sighs, forlorn when he lists off his schedule, “So, this movie finishes up shooting here at the end of this month. And then I’m going back to LA next month to to attend the premiere of that romcom I was working on last year, and then I’m up in Vancouver to shoot a Netflix like high school coming of age-type movie, that’ll take a few months, then I’m back in New York to do _Hamlet_ , which I’m kind of freaking out about, and that runs up until the press tour.” 

“Look at us go, keeping the Bard alive.” 

“Okay, I’m doing it because no actor my age can reasonably turn down the role of _Hamlet_ , not for whatever nerdy reason you think.” 

“Deny it all you like, Alex, but I’ve seen the way your demeanour changes when we get on the topic of Star Wars. I know you’re a nerd at heart.” 

“Star Wars is a cultural touchstone, it’s actually _cool_ to like it.”

“I just don't think you should be afraid to embrace your intellectual side, to me it’s a founding tenet of your sex appeal.” 

“Intellect? Sweetheart, I’m not the one with the Oxford degree,” Alex argues.

“Is _Juilliard_ supposed to be any less impressive?” Henry parries back. 

They bicker, talking in circles until their posturing reduces them to giggles. Alex kisses Henry as much as he can, knowing their time is limited, and as if on cue his phone chimes. It’s Zahra letting him know he has to be back on set in an hour. Henry’s phone goes off too warning him of his own imminent appointments. For the time being Alex takes residence back up in his favourite place: cradled in Henry’s arms, his head resting against Henry’s chest. 

“When will we see each other again?” Henry sighs, “The press tour?”

“Oh god, that’s not for like eight months.” The idea is almost too much to bear. But then, Alex thinks for a minute and exclaims, “LA! We’ll be there at the same time.”

“Two months,” Henry says, still sounding miserable, “I suppose I’ll manage until then.” 

“Listen, we can make it special,” Alex sits up now, he’s too excited, he’s making plans, “It’ll be great. We’ll go out, I’ll take you to my favourite sushi place. Or— oh! You can come to my premiere with me!”

“Wouldn’t you rather bring a date?” 

“Yeah…and _you_ would be that date.” 

“Alex, I thought you asked me… not to make this a big deal.”

“I didn’t want to at first, but don’t you think now—I mean, for me, it’s,” Alex finds suddenly that he can’t continue, can’t quite figure out what he means to say, because all at once it occurs to him that maybe he’s been the only one falling for real, that Henry’s sweet, poetic, romantic nature was just that. He was a songwriter after all, a poet. What if Alex had just been some momentary inspiration and nothing more? What if he had fallen for the fantasy of it all? The thought of it sits like a stone in his stomach. That’s ridiculous, Henry wouldn’t be so duplicitous. He doesn’t want to think that he could be. He finds his words again, “it’s just that I’m going to come out soon, I don’t know if I can wait to time it all the way until the movie comes out, so it’s just going to happen, I think. And you are really meaningful to me so I want to share it. I mean— only if you’re comfortable.” 

“I’m not out yet.” Henry doesn’t look at him when he talks. “I thought I’d told you.”

“You did. You told me right away. I’m not going to say anything without your permission, Henry, it’s just… were you planning on coming out any time soon?” 

“There just hasn’t been the right moment.” But it’s as if he can tell Alex won’t be satisfied with this answer, pretty much the same thing he said last time, because he continues, “Look, this hasn’t been announced or anything but Bea and I were thinking of pursuing solo careers—”

“The band is breaking up?”

Henry gets up now, and as he speaks, he starts to pace, “It’s… it’s not that, it’s just we’ve been wanting to experiment with different sounds and I’ve been writing quite a few songs that don’t really make sense for the band and I don’t know when it will happen but it’s likely that it will be soon. Long story short, my management advised me not to come out just yet, since we’re also trying to launch this solo career at the same time. They don’t want it to hurt my chances of record sales or anything if I become less— less… you know, universal.” 

“That’s bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.” 

“No, Alex, it’s reality.” 

Now Alex gets up, rounds on Henry, his voice rising in his incredulity, “Do you just believe every homophobic thing these industry assholes tell you?”

Henry turns away, his arms crossed across his chest, “It’s different for me. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” 

“How could I not? I’m a public figure too, you know, and on top of that I’m not white. Do you think that doesn’t affect what my coming out means? You think I won’t alienate parts of my audience? There will always be assholes in this world, you can’t let that kind of pressure force you to live a lie.” 

Henry turns back to him and Alex can see his eyes are shining with tears, which gives him some pause. Henry’s voice is also raised when he replies, “Have you considered that perhaps I’m scared? That perhaps my family won’t be as kind about it as you think? That I’ll forever change in the minds of millions, and I have to deal with that?” 

Alex walks up to Henry now, he’s so frustrated he could scream, but he keeps his voice level, “Would you rather be scared than happy?” 

“It’s not so simple a choice.” 

“How?”

“Because what you’re really asking me to do is choose between you and my career, and that’s not fair, Alex.” 

For once in his life, Alex has nothing to say, knowing this is a choice that he doesn’t think he could ever make himself— but in some closely guarded part of his heart he knows that he has made this choice, that he’s chosen Henry. And maybe it’s because he’s always been a little reckless with his career, but also because he had a little more hope in the modern day public to be decent and tolerant. But part of it was certainly that he had been running under the assumption that Henry had already chosen him. Why else the poetry and the songs and the way they were together? He realizes in that moment that perhaps Henry isn’t as all or nothing as him, that he may have done all of this in half-measures. But he’s not sure, doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, so he looks at Henry, and really takes him in, watches the way he is suddenly very interested in some fluff on the rug beneath his feet, decidedly not making eye contact. So Alex tests the waters, he says, “Maybe I should go.”

Henry’s face is still turned away, but Alex can see his features tense, his brow furrow. “Don’t let me keep you,” he finally says, his voice hoarse. And Alex has the horrible stomach-sinking feeling that something is wrong, that this morning has taken a turn.

But it doesn’t really hit him— that something shifted in the air that morning— until two months later, when he’s forgotten about that sour end, and thinks only about the sweet haze of the morning, reads Henry’s poem over and over again, when Henry texts him to tell him he can’t see him in LA after all. 

Alex calls him right away, and when he picks up, says, “Hello,” Alex can hear the strain in his voice, the weariness in his breath. His anger is tempered almost immediately. 

“Hey sweetheart, what’s going on?”

“Hi, Alex, I’m so sorry I am knackered tonight, I don’t think I’ll have the energy to see you.” 

“Well, look we don’t have to do anything too crazy, I can skip my premiere, we can just watch a movie and hangout.”

“I don’t know, I think I may have to take some vocal rest after the show, so I’m afraid I won’t be too entertaining.” 

“Oh, okay,” Alex says, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice, “It’s just that I… I was really looking forward to seeing you.”

“I know, I’m really sorry.” 

“How are you feeling now that the tour is over?” 

“Really, really exhausted more than anything.” 

“Are you getting any sleep?”

“I wish.”

“Maybe I should come over then, or you can come over, and we can just sleep— you told me you always get better sleep with me there.”

There’s a long pause on the other side of the line, he hears Henry take a deep breath, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Then he asks the dreaded question, “Henry… are we okay?”

“I don’t know, Alex.”

In that moment all of Alex’s fears are confirmed, they open up like a pit at the bottom of his stomach. Amid the swirling disappointment and confusion, all Alex feels is an overwhelming sense of betrayal, and anger, what had this all been about? Alex takes a shuddering breath, “What are you saying, you don’t like me anymore?”

He barely registers the words Henry is saying, his voice distant and tinny over the phone, it’s all his typical justifications, “No, Alex, I just think it was a bad idea anyway. And I’m to blame, I got carried away, and I apologize. We were co-stars, we never should have been anything more. It was unprofessional.”

Alex blinks away the tears that are gathering in his eyes, and for a minute he’s both irritated and relieved that they are doing this over the phone, he grits his teeth. “My bad for having the audacity to have feelings. So unprofessional of me.”

“Alex, obviously I feel for you too— that’s the whole problem.”

“I’m sorry to have been such a fucking inconvenience to you—” But then Alex stops, he takes a deep, steadying breath, “I know what you’re doing Henry. You’re saying all of this to hurt me and make me angry so that I dump you but I’m not going to let you off this easy.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to let you _goad_ me into helping you self-sabotage. I want to hear _you_ deny your own feelings for me because you are _scared_ about what a few _tabloids_ might say about you. Just say it, just tell me I’m not worth it, I can take it.” 

“Alex, that’s not true.”

“Then what are we doing here?” 

Henry pauses again, then his voice is low, grim. “We’re wasting each other’s time.” 

Alex hears the finality in Henry’s words and the sinking feeling gets worse. This conversation could not have gone more poorly— if only he could just _see_ him. “Henry, look, if you need space or time or whatever to figure this out, then great, you’ve got plenty of it. Just know that I’m not giving up on you, or us, whatever we are, because I genuinely care a lot about you and I want you in my life. Like I said, I’m putting the ball in your court. If you want me, you have me,” and for a moment Alex is kind of proud of himself for handling this so maturely, but then he thinks again about everything Henry means to him and how cavalier Henry is being about all of this, how ready he is to throw it away, that awful ugly part of his heart twists, and he regrets the words even as he says them, “And if you want to be a spineless, lonely, coward then let me go. I’ve got plenty of other options.” 

Henry is quiet for so long Alex thinks for a second he’s hung up, but he can still faintly hear Henry’ breathing on the other side of the line, shallow, uneven, and he’s about to take it all back, he opens his mouth to speak, to apologize, but before he gets the chance, Henry says, “Goodbye, Alex.” And he doesn’t contact Alex again. 

**press tour**

“Hi I’m Alex Claremont-Diaz.”

“And I’m Henry Fox.”

“And this is our Wired Autocomplete Interview.” 

They hand Henry the first piece of foam which he holds awkwardly, but capably in his big hands. They stare at each other in the sterile, white studio. This is the first time they’ve seen each other since New York, the first time they’ve spoken since LA. But really, they haven’t said anything to each other, they’ve just been acting. Henry peels the first sticker. 

“Okay, let’s see, Is Alex Claremont-Diaz a Leo?”

“Nope, but good guess, I am actually an Aries, but I’m not too sure what all of these things really mean, my sister is the expert there,” Behind the camera he sees Zahra mouthing something like _Ask Henry,_ and so plastering on a grin he asks, “What’s yours, Henry, old chum?” 

“I am a Pisces. I’m told we’re dreamy and introspective, but I too would defer to June's authority.” They share a brief smile that feels almost real, Alex had regaled Henry with so many stories of his beloved older sister, and he knew so much about Bea, there was a time he considered them all friends. Not so much now when Henry looks away, determined on peeling back the next sticker, which as he reads, he startles (almost) imperceptibly, they won’t catch it on camera, but Alex can tell, “Is Alex Claremont-Diaz single?” 

“Nope!” Alex’s grin is genuine this time, a little spiteful as he looks right at Henry, then vamps towards the camera, “But y’all are not getting any more details.” 

Henry laughs a little nervously, but he covers it up quickly, “Is Alex Claremont-Diaz graduated college?” Alex feels his heart flutter traitorously as he watches Henry cringe at the grammar of that sentence. He even addresses it, trying to be jovial, Henry smiles a little it’s quick but genuine, “I knew people were cavalier about their grammar but I had not imagined the state of affairs so dire.” 

“Sorry we didn’t all go to _Oxford_ , dude.”

Henry smiles, it’s a little wistful, remembering this same exchange they had in a different time, “Not so many of us were fortunate enough to attend _Juilliard_ either.” 

They go through a couple more of these, joking and teasing each other the whole time, and then Alex is handed a board full of Henry’s questions. “Okay, this should be fun, Is Henry Fox….” he struggles a little with the sticker and sticks his tongue out at Henry when he giggles, “a total diva on set?” he reads when the card says “from Liverpool.” Alex turns to the camera, “I can answer that, yes he was a total nightmare to work with.” He looks back at Henry and grins, brandishing the card at him, “What do you have to say about this?”

Henry looks at the card and looks at the camera and in a perfect deadpan just says, “I’m actually from London, but like any good Englishman, I love the Beatles and so I am still a big fan of the city.”

“Okay, moving on, ooh okay now we’re getting to the good stuff— is Henry Fox single?”

“No comment.” 

“Aw come on, no, unacceptably boring answer try again.” Alex is aware he is goading Henry now, and he can see the effects of his teasing manifest in the slight pinch in the corner of Henry’s mouth, and the severe way he’s looking at Alex. But this is Alex’s intent. 

Henry laughs a fake little laugh, and says, “How about— it’s complicated.” 

Alex just sighs and turns to the camera, “Henry Fox, folks, international man of mystery.” 

—

“Hi I’m Henry Fox from the band _Windsor_ , here with Teen Vogue, and this is the playlist of my life.” 

“Let's get the obligatory Beatles out of the way— anyone could have guessed their influence on my music, I am a white man from England. It’s also criminally unfair to make me pick one, so I will pick two. The first one has to be I Want To Hold Your Hand. I just love the joy in this song, I listen to it when I’m in a good mood, everything about it feels so jubilant to me, the guitar riff, the upbeat percussion, and the lyrics,” he sings, “ _and when I touch you I feel happy inside._ It’s just beautiful, and I’ve _felt_ that, you know?”

“Then, I guess my opposite pick, when I’m feeling sad, is perhaps also a conventional one, but it’s Yesterday. It just always strikes me how simple the lyrics are, but how meaningful. The production is also quite bare but still gorgeous, like those strings in the background. But what’s also amazing about it is it’s so easy to just pick up a guitar and play it when you need to just get that feeling that it generates and you need them out of your head and into the world.” 

“Okay, my last one… is back to Joni. God, I’ve been dreadfully boring haven’t I? But I had to put this on the list, because it’s _Case of You._ It’s one I’ve rediscovered recently, and I can’t get over how smart it is, but again how simple? The first line is a reference to Shakespeare’s _Julius Caesar_ , and then the second verse has one of the most beautiful little lines, that’s just all Joni. _I am a lonely painter, I live in a box of paints._ It just speaks to me about how you can get trapped in your art, to the point of loneliness. Of course, it’s just a matter of what you prioritize, I guess. I just love songs that make me think.” 

—

“When _you_ inevitably find yourself just _demolishing_ taquitos in the Whataburger parking lot nursing the worst hangover in your life—I mean what? Mom? What’s alcohol? Drink responsibly, kids.”

“Hey, I’m Alex Claremont-Diaz and these are my essentials.”

“My first essential is my prized possession— my Sriracha keychain. Now— listen to me, when Beyonce said she had hot sauce in her bag, swag, I don’t think enough people took it as a directive. It’s genuinely been a lifesaver, especially if you’re me, and you’re in an industry where we are fortunate enough to have a lot of meals catered, like on set, but more often than not the seasoning could use some help. Enter the magic that is _portable sriracha_.”

“Another essential is a book, and I know a lot of my fellow intellectuals on this program have not failed to use this as a platform to show off how literate they are so why should I be left out? My current obsession is with old timey poetry. I didn’t think I cared about poetry much but I had a friend introduce me to some of his which are tragically unpublished so I have to settle for his influences. So, I have here _The Essential Neruda_ by… you guessed it… Pablo Neruda. And this edition is kind of cool because it has the Spanish on one side and the English on the other, and it’s really cool you get to kind of compare and see the choices the translator made and it’s also helping me brush up on my Spanish which uh… needs some work.”

“My last essential is a comfy pair of PJs. I am kind of terrible about falling asleep in my jeans, and I pull a terrible amount of all-nighters, I do not endorse my lifestyle. So it’s both an essential and a luxury when I can remember, or when I am reminded, that just a ratty old band tee and a pair of sweatpants makes a world of difference for sleep. I have an old _Windsor_ t-shirt here, I think it might be my sister’s or… I don’t know, someone’s— I am also a notorious clothes thief. If you’ve ever let me borrow clothes, you’re never getting them back, I’m sorry, I cannot change the way I am.” 

—

“Hey _Vanity_ Fair, I’m Alex Claremont-Diaz, and I play Julian Vega.”

“I’m Rafael Luna, and I wrote the screenplay and directed this movie and this is notes on a scene.” 

“I really felt like this was my Kiera Knightley in the rain rejecting Darcy’s marriage proposal scene.”

“Magnificently nerdy reference, kid, and right on the money. What we were trying to go for here with Julian and James was just the undeniable spark of something between them facing the tension that something is holding them back.” 

“I remember you had me and Henry read this scene in our first chemistry read, and man… it was intense.” 

“I love what Henry did here, the way he holds in his anger, just barely beneath the surface. And the way he carries his hurt, you can see it in his posture.”

“It was amazing to work against, and it’s true he like physically manifests the emotion, I learned a lot from him.” 

“You two must have been freezing, we did like seven takes of this.” 

“I remember we would huddle under the blanket together for like five precious minutes of body heat before we had to go out again. Actually, being so cold helped me get that chin wobble down when I cry there.” 

“We went with these tight shots because we wanted to see this great emoting you were doing, and it doesn’t help that you guys are also only lit by this kind of blue moonlight and then alternately the orange of the streetlamp— but that was a deliberate choice, and those colours were intentional, because they’re showing the way you two were really at opposite ends, we used the opposite ends of the colour wheel.”

“I never noticed this before but it’s so cool how we come in and out of the light too, sometimes I’m blue and he’s orange, and sometimes he’s orange and I’m blue. It’s like we want the same thing— each other— but we’re just not communicating it.”

—

They have been sitting in this room for what feels like _years_ now, of awkward stilted silence followed by brief bursts of being asked the same inane questions by what feels like a thousand different online and print publications, and the whole time Alex has to stare at his own face, blown up a thousand percent, all his flaws and blemishes (of which there are admittedly not _that_ many, but enough that Alex notices) plastered behind them on the giant movie poster backdrop they sit against. Worst of all is Henry beside him the whole time, ignoring him entirely until second the cameras turn on. 

They go through what feels like a thousand interviews all asking them the same things— what was it like working with Luna, what are some funny stories from on set, how did Henry feel about the transition from music to movies, what platitudes about diversity could Alex say about his role? Eventually, Alex could feel himself going crazy, not just from the dull repetitive blows of these questions, not just from the discomfort of looking at his own giant face all day, but most of all from the deep persistent ache in his chest— the direct result of Henry’s cold shoulder.

During one of their last interviews of the day, Alex decides he has had enough and says something to try and provoke him. “I think my real favourite moment is a bit of a spoiler so I’ll say my second favourite moment, and it was definitely when I got to make out with this guy, I mean look at him!”

In the moment Henry smiles and laughs along and makes some joke about how grateful he was about all the mints they kept at hand on set, but as soon as the interview is over the smile falls from his face. He pulls out his phone and resolutely does not look at Alex, but Alex can’t stop looking at him. 

“Alex,” the interviewer says, and his attention snaps quickly to her in answer, his publicity smile plastered back on his face, “can I ask, now that the cameras are cut, what was your real favourite moment?” 

He smiles, for real this time, and he doesn’t look at Henry but knows he can hear him, “It’s got to be the reconciliation scene, at Julian’s home in Texas. The moment is so heart-wrenching, they’re in such a special place— I’m from Texas too—anyway, in this scene there’s this line, it’s James’s actually, he says ‘Have I truly been so unforgivable?’ and even though I think a lot of people see that as him being petulant or whiny, I see it as a genuine question. I mean, who hasn’t fucked up before? Who hasn’t wanted a chance to make things right? Who hasn’t wondered— am I truly unforgivable— and just wanted to hear the person they love tell them it’s okay?” As he says this last part, he registers Henry getting up and leaving the room, but he doesn’t let his press smile leave his face, keeps smiling as the interviewer tells him “wow that’s beautiful,” and it’s only after she leaves that he drops the artifice, tired to his very bones. 

“Hang in there, kid,” Zahra says, “One more to go.” As if that’s the problem.

His head is buried in his hands so he doesn’t register when Henry comes back in the room. Alex only glances at him just as they’re about to start the last interview for this leg of the press tour, and he notices, with a start, that his eyes are rimmed pink, his nose is a little red too. The thought strikes him that Henry has been crying, and it makes him feel like he’s been punched in the stomach. He looks away again, and doesn’t look back over until the interview begins, and they have to start acting again. At least this time it’s for a newspaper, there are no cameras. 

“My favourite on-set memory… good question,” Henry says, only half-convincingly, and Alex stares off into space, well into the giant picture of him that sits beside the interviewer and specifically fixates on the weird shape of his nostrils. He waits to hear the canned answer he’s been giving all the interviewers today.

“It was definitely the day that Alex and I filmed the big reconciliation scene at the lake house in Texas.” Alex looks over, surprised, this is not Henry’s normal answer. “It’s a really intense scene and we did a load of takes to make sure we got it just right, and afterwards, Alex and I took some time to unwind from all that, the tension and the emotion of that scene.” Henry turns his gaze from the interviewer to Alex then, and Alex feels his heart jump into his throat, “We shot the scene on location so the next day, Alex drove us back to Austin and we spent it visiting all of the special places from his childhood, his favourite breakfast tacos, his regular haunts in high school, the house he grew up in. It was a moment when I felt very, very close to him, to who he was before he was the person that you all know and love. He let me know that other side of him. I cherish that day, I think about it all the time.” The gaze between Alex and Henry then feels at once heavy and intimate, as it does fragile and temporary. In a brief spike of anxiety, Alex looks over to the interviewer who is on his phone, he looks up at them then. 

“Oh,” he says, putting is phone down and making a show of scribbling in his notebook, “cool. How about you Alex?”

Alex doesn’t bother keeping up the pretence, he looks at Henry head on, “Henry used to sing me my favourite songs— any time I asked. They sounded better in his voice.”

“Alex,” Henry whispers, his voice at once warning and broken. 

“Any more questions?” Alex asks tersely, “Because I think Henry and I are being called away for our next one.” Zahra is in the room with Shaan, Henry’s manager and the two of them give Alex quizzical looks.

The interviewer looks up and shrugs, “Nah, I’m good.” He extends his hand which Alex shakes quickly and so does Henry. Alex gets up and gestures to Henry who sighs and follows him out the door. Alex leans back into the room and says, “Shaan, Zahra, give us five minutes.” 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Zahra warns. 

Alex ushers Henry down the hallway, their footfalls are silent in the luxe carpeting of the hotel they’re in. Alex stops when he finds what he’s looking for: a supply closet. He pushes Henry in, surprised at how pliant he’s being, but not wasting his luck. 

“What was that about?” Alex asks, fighting to keep the tremor from his voice.

Henry looks around the room, the tiny, awful space of the supply closet. Alex follows his gaze to the brooms stacked against the walls and the toilet paper lining the shelves. When Alex looks back, Henry has dropped his head into his hands and his shoulders are shaking. In sharp, immediate concern, Alex’s hands fly up to grasp Henry’s wrists. 

“Are you okay? Henry?” But when Henry lowers his hands, Alex realizes he’s laughing. Helplessly, Alex starts laughing too. It finally strikes him how ridiculous this all is, and soon they’re both clutching on to each other, half in hysterics. When they finally calm down and catch their breath, Henry speaks first. 

“I’ve been a bloody fool, Alex.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you this whole time.” 

“I should have listened.”

“I shouldn’t have called you spineless, or a coward. You’re not. You’re brave and wonderful and you mean the world to me, I just didn’t want to let you go.” 

“It was my fault. I made you do it anyway.” 

“I should have fought harder. Can I make my case again, now?” 

Henry nods, the distance between them was not great, but he steps closer, shrinking it still. “It’s no secret that I misjudged you when we first met, but being with you is all it took to make me realize how wrong I was. You have changed me in so many ways for the better. All these months without you— yes they’ve been busy, yes they’ve been fulfilling career-wise— but I felt like I was missing something the whole time, like there was a piece of my heart across the ocean or something. I can’t say things as poetically as you can, Henry. All I know is that I miss you, and how insanely smart you are, and how funny you are, and obviously how outrageously attractive you are. Even if you’re not comfortable telling the world, even if we need to keep it quiet, I want you back. Will you have me?” 

This whole speech, Alex has been inching closer and closer still, his voice fallen to nearly a whisper. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of Henry once, and Henry has followed suit. When Henry brings his hand up to cradle the back of Alex’s neck, it’s the most natural thing in the world for the distance to close entirely, and for Henry’s lips to find Alex’s, to find home. Though Alex has missed this for so long, and he can feel Henry’s matching urgency contained in the tight grip he has of Alex’s hair, they kiss sweetly, and gently, just long slow presses of the lips, a gentle drag of the tongue. When they break for air, Henry moves down to his neck, kissing up to the space behind his ear. Alex curls his fingers into Henry’s shoulder, _god_ he’s missed this. Alex breathes erratically as he tries to make as little noise as possible, but Henry is making it very difficult. 

Henry’s lips finally leave Alex’s skin, but remaining by his ear he says, “You were right, I was a coward. I want… I want to be together. In public. I want to be out. I spoke to my record label and— and they told me that if it affected album sales they would drop me.” Alex makes an incredulous noise, but when he pulls back to look at Henry, he’s smiling, “I told them to go ahead. I have three different competing offers, so does Bea. Like you said, they’re homophobic assholes and we don’t have to take their shit if we don’t want to.” 

“Henry,” Alex says, “that’s amazing.”

“I thought about what you said, all these months. A lot of what you said actually, both the kind things and the brutal honesty which… which I needed. I love my career too, my art. But it’s fundamentally an expression of who I am. If I’m lying to everyone about that then— then my art suffers, it becomes dishonest too.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Alex chides, “Once you let people in you’re an honesty machine. It’s just the getting there.” 

“At the premiere,” Henry says, smiling, his arms are looped around Alex’s waist, Alex’s hands rest on Henry’s shoulders and they stand there in a loose embrace, “I think we should tell everyone then.” Alex smiles, and pulls Henry in and kisses him.

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door of the closet, and before either of them realize it, and before there is any time to let go of one another, the door opens, and Shaan and Zahra stand there. The worst part is neither of them look shocked. Shaan only looks to Zahra and asks, “Shall I get the paperwork started?”

“No, I can do it. But you still owe me fifty bucks.”  ****

**premiere**

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, Alex, I’m certain. You’ve asked me a hundred times, the answer is still yes.”

Alex had actually been counting and had only asked him twenty-four times, but it was a testament to his nervousness that he didn’t pedantically correct Henry about it. Henry turns on him then, “Are _you_ sure about this?”

“I am,” Alex takes a deep breath, “If you’re with me, then I’m sure.” 

“I am with you, love.” 

And they step out of the limo, hand in hand. They are met with a wall of sound, a crowd of photographers and fans and interviewers cheering for them as they exit. It’s nothing close to the way the stadium felt at Henry’s show, but it’s still overwhelming in its own way. An attendant leads them down to the first interviewer, who waits for them in a tent, off to the side. They approach her, their hands still interlocked, she gives them a few seconds warning before her camera starts rolling—live. 

“For an E! News exclusive, I’m Linda Parker and I am here live with Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox the stars of _This Above All_ at the LA premiere! Tell me, boys, what was your favourite part of making this film?”

“Well, Linda, you’re looking at him,” Alex says, unable to keep an idiotic grin from his face as he gestures to Henry who smiles, unwavering, as he waves to the camera, “I fell in love while making this film, nothing beats that.”

“That’s amazing! Henry, what can you tell us about your whirlwind romance?” 

“It’s difficult to know Alex, to be in his orbit, and to not fall helplessly in love. I have never been public about my relationships before but that’s because I’ve rarely been so certain.” 

“Alex, rumours have been circulating about your sexuality. Your last public relationship was with a woman. What have been the challenges of navigating your new gay identity?” 

“Actually, Linda, I’m bisexual, and I think I always have been. The challenges have been what they always are, fear that people won’t understand, that they’ll be bigoted or see me differently now, that it might affect my career. However, I believe we live in a world that’s moving forward, and I’m here, open about my identity and unapologetic about my confidence and capabilities in my career. I’m doing this to continue to push progress farther and ensure I get the equal treatment I deserve, regardless of the gender of my partner.” 

“Powerful words, Alex, thank you for sharing them. Henry, as you mentioned, you have been notoriously private about your personal life, how are you feeling about this new relationship and the possible drawbacks of being so open and in the public eye?”

“Well, Linda, I would echo Alex’s sentiment that the public eye brings with it the fear of scrutiny and the fear of judgement, but I am also not interested in apologizing for being in love, or for whom I love. I have been private in the past, but I have also been closeted and I have struggled with my identity and my relationships. I am not saying by any means that everyone must come out, in fact, I recognize that I am unique in my privilege and safety in being able to do so. What I hope to do, not only with my personal platform, but with our film as well, is to continue to foster a world where living one’s true identity is possible with full assurance of acceptance and celebration. We still have a lot of work to do, but I am glad I am able now to more vocally take part in that incredibly important work.”

“That is incredible, Henry, thank you.” Linda turns back to her camera, “There you have it folks, amazing sentiments from two rising stars in Hollywood, changing the tide not only with their poignant film _This Above All_ , but with their own love story as well. _This Above All_ will be in theatres on December 7th, don’t miss it!”

**awards season**

_“And the Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Drama goes to Alex Claremont-Diaz!”_ ****

“Oh my god, _dios mio,_ this is incredible. I have so many people to thank for making this possible— give me a second— I made a list! Thank you so much to the foreign press, thank you to our amazing director and visionary Raf, thank you to my sister June for convincing me to stay on when I thought I couldn’t do it because I would have to work with my then nemesis Henry Fox— but I could, and I did, and it ended up being the best damn decision I ever made in my life. So I think you all know by now that Henry isn’t my nemesis anymore. Thank you Henry for loving me and letting me love you. Finally, thank you world for taking a chance on this film, for showing this film your love. To see yourself on screen is a privilege that we are working to turn into a norm— no matter who you are. This is one of the first times I have seen myself, proudly Latino, proudly bisexual— and I know there are kids out there just like me, and if I was able to show you in any way that you are amazing and worthy of love and capable of anything and everything you dream of— then I have done my job. _¡Gracias!_ Thank you!” 

_“And the Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actor in a Drama goes to Henry Fox!”_

“I don’t know what to say. I— wow. This is a true honour, and I cannot thank you enough. The foreign press, our visionary director Rafael Luna, our producers, our cast and crew. It’s funny, actually, because although our film is about love, and is thus not a horror film in any conceivable form, up until I arrived on set, love was the thing in this world that terrified me the most. You might be thinking Henry! How is that possible? You’ve made your fame and fortune on selling a thousand saccharine love songs, and that is true. But alas I had never felt that raw tumult myself, only imagined it. All that changed when I met Alex, who was so brilliant and bold, I got spots in my vision if I looked at him too long. But then he went sick on my shoes and was so embarrassed he wouldn’t talk to me for a week and I got to know that he is only human. But it’s all of these things at once that reduced me to the pile of mush over him, whom you see before you now. I can only conclude by saying as thankful as I am for this acting award, I’m barely acting in this movie, I’m just in love.”

_“And the Academy Award for Best Original Screenplay goes to Rafael Luna for_ This Above All _!”_

“Thank you for this. Thank you, Academy. Wow. As we’ve all heard before, they tell you to write what you know. What do you know better than your own life? To call this project an autobiography would be pushing it— we know things wrap up much nicer in the movies than they do in real life. But I can’t deny that there are parts of me in this movie, pieces of my heart and soul that I carefully stitched into all the words you saw spoken on screen, these words that you clearly loved. There’s also a real life love story that bloomed on our set, a true and beautiful love that I’m proud to say grew in and among my words. Thank you, again, for loving my words. For bringing those words to life, I have to thank our amazing production team headed by Liz and Frances at Studio Pictures. For being the life from which I drew these words, I have to thank my family— they are just as crazy and lovable as you saw up there on screen, and my partner Andrew, who is— and I’m sorry about this Henry— more handsome and perfect than we could realistically depict on film. And as I’m being played off— a big thank you to my friends, my crew, and my cast for putting all the love in this labour of love. Thank you.”

**Author's Note:**

> title from hozier's nobody


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